


Toxic Love

by ColorInPlatinum



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Trans Male Character, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9428432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorInPlatinum/pseuds/ColorInPlatinum
Summary: cheesy title. a collection tyrian/(mostly) male character one shots.





	1. Salt in the Wound (Watts/Tyrian)

**Author's Note:**

> request a pairing or prompt here: http://colorinplatinum.tumblr.com/ask

  
The doctor bends over Tyrian's wounded tail, the lower half of his face covered by a surgical mask to avoid the toxic fumes coming from the faunus' venomous blood. Tyrian's hair is down, creating a dark brown curtain that hides every wince and the tears that drip from his chin. Every so often, Watts stops sewing to pick up a pair of tweezers and pull a bit of debris from the wound and drop it in the bowl with the other pieces of thorns and rocks and dirt. He stopped scolding Tyrian for not wrapping his wound sooner a while ago.  
  
This is far too familiar for both of them. Watts sews and bandages everyone at least once, even Salem herself once or twice, but it always seems to be Tyrian that comes to him with the worst of it all. The last time he sat on Watts' medical bench, _he was close to death from the thick, deep cuts along his chest. They criss-crossed over his torso, and a third carved right along his middle. Her Grace had no doubt been picking dried purple blood from beneath her sharp, black nails._  
  
 _Tyrian was sobbing, one hand wrapped tight around the doctor's while he stitched and disinfected and tried to come up with a way to replace Tyrian's lost blood. What does one use to replace plasma and blood cells that are just as toxic as the venom in his system? Tyrian had cut off the circulation in Watts' left hand, turning his knuckles a dark shade of purple that matched the blood pouring down his chest. Watts tried to wriggle his hand from Tyrian's, but to no avail._  
  
At least this time he doesn't have hold of the doctor.  
  
"You're going to have to face her sooner or later," Watts mumbles, his voice slightly muffled by the mask over his mouth. "She'll be upset if you don't."  
  
"I know..." Tyrian croaks. If anyone among them knows of Salem's punishments, it's Tyrian.  
  
"She'll be kind. You couldn't have known that Branwen was following them--"  
  
"I should have." Tyrian spits. "I'm her hunter for a reason. I should have sensed him, smelled him, heard him, something, I--!" Tyrian's rambling is cut off by a sob, likely the result of Watts puling a particularly large stick from the raw flesh within the armored exoskeleton of his tail.  
  
It takes Watts only a few more seconds to finish stitching Tyrian's wound shut. He quickly disinfects the stump of a tail, then wraps it tightly in a roll of stark white gauze. Purple seeps through the frabic, but only a bit; Tyrian will be fine.  
  
"Lay down," Watts orders, his voice soft even as he removes the mask. "you need rest."  
  
Tyrian doesn't respond, nor does he move, but when the doctor's hands push against his shoulders to lay him down, he follows without protest. With his hair away from his eyes, Tyrian's expression is clear: it's heartbreaking, numb, terrified. Watts feels his gut turn cold. He criticized Cinder for falling to the girl, but now she had incapacitated half of their team. He can't help feeling like his words contributed to Tyrian's pain.  
  
"I'm going to... get you some food." Watts says, brushing an errant strand of sweat-soaked hair from Tyrian's cheeks. "And a glass of water. Do you think you can eat?"  
  
Tyrian lets his head roll to the side.  
  
"I'll--I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere. P-please."  
  
Watts moves quickly, quietly through the dark halls of the fortress. Hazel's room is empty, as is Cinder's, which means she's likely with Salem. That at least gives him the reassurance that he won't be interrupted on his way to the kitchen.  
  
He prepares Tyrian a small meal in silence, making sure that the food is light enough that it won't make him sick. Hot soup with raw meat (Tyrian's DNA makes him carnivorous, and Watts has learned that he tends to digest raw meat better) and ice cold water. Should be light enough.  
  
He finds himself thinking back to their last life-and-death visit to his clinic. _Tyrian was perhaps fourteen, his clothing soaked through with blood and his once long hair crudely ripped off at the ears. Judging by the fear in his eyes, he had suffered some kind of punishment from Salem._  
  
 _Watts had moved so quickly that he knocked over his desk chair. He snatched up a syringe and filled it quickly with an anesthetic. It didn't seem to help Tyrian much. He tore the boy's shirt open to expose the wounds further and hastily began mopping up the blood. He remembers how his heart skipped a beat when Tyrian snatched up his hand._  
  
 _Threading the needle for Tyrian's wounds and sewing his chest closed was hard with only one hand, but Watts managed. Between stitches and sobs, he'd refill the syringe and give Tyrian another dose of anesthetic, hoping it would put him under. Without time to think and take the faunus' unique DNA into account, he had no way to calculate just how much he needed to put the boy under._  
  
The water's boiling.  
  
Watts snaps himself out of his reverie and hurries to the stove. His cooking isn't spectacular, but it'll be enough. He throws a handful of spices into the water, a frown still painted across his face, and then goes to work cutting up the meat.  
  
 _Tyrian had whimpered through his haze, the anesthetic finally making his eyelids droop, "...thank y-you..."_  
  
 _Watts felt the grip on his hand loosen and Tyrian fell asleep, and his quickly finished his work. Moments later, you almost wouldn't have known anything had happened in the first place. Watts himself, however, was covered in purple blood, the smell of which made his head pound and his stomach churn. Tyrian rested peacefully on the medical table, bare chest lined with thick, black stitches. Watts busied himself with brushing pieces of torn hair from the boy's ears and shoulders, even trimming a few uneven ends with a pair of surgical scissors. It was the least he could do._  
  
He's back in front of the door to the clinic, and he can hear Tyrian crying softly behind the door. The tray in Watts' hands holds a bowl of steaming soup, tinted red from the chunks of blood-soaked meat within it, and a glass of ice cold water. He pushes open the door with his hip and moves to push his tools aside to set the tray down. Tyrian hasn't moved, but his shoulders shake from barely muffled sobs.  
  
"Tyrian," Watts calls. "I brought you some food. You need to eat. Can you sit up?" Nothing. Watts moved to help Tyrian up, and like before, he moved without protest. Watts didn't bother asking if Tyrian could eat on his own. He knew he wouldn't respond.  
  
Watts seats himself next to Tyrian and slowly begins feeding him spoonfuls of soup. Tyrian chews the meat, swallows his food where needed, but aside from that, he's completely still. Watts lifts the glass of water to Tyrian's pale lips and the faunus drinks without hesitation.  
  
 _Watts remembers watching Tyrian sleep, concern written across his face as he prayed to any god listening that the boy would live. He didn't dare go to Salem and ask what had happened, but he knew it had to be bad. Physical wounds are one thing, but Tyrian's hair is, was, always will be the one thing from his past that he clung to. It means so much to him--why would Salem cut it?_  
  
Watts pushes a piece of Tyrian's hair from his eyes again, smiling softly. At least it grew back.  
  
"Tyrian...?" Watts whispers. "I know you can hear me." Tyrian looks over at the doctor, enough of a response to ease Watts' concern.  
  
A gloved hand comes to rest on Tyrian's pallid cheek and Watts presses a gentle kiss to the faunus' lips. The kiss is layered with compassion, fear, longing, regret. Tyrian remains still for a moment, as if caught off guard by the doctor's sudden actions, and then slowly returns the embrace.  
  
Watts gently places his hands on Tyrian's shoulders and pushes the hunter down on the medical bed again. Their kiss never breaks, but pain becomes desire and Tyrian wraps his arms around Watts.  
  
The kiss eventually breaks, but they remain tangled in each other's arms. Watts feels Tyrian's grip loosen and within moments, the hunter is fast asleep. It's been a long day for both of them. Surely Tyrian won't mind if Watts closes his eyes for just a moment...


	2. Prestigious (Qrow/Tyrian) NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> before episode seven, tyrian and qrow meet under very different circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous requested: um is it kinda weird of me to want to see Qrow dom Tyrian in some way?
> 
> request prompts or ships here: http://colorinplatinum.tumblr.com/ask

Qrow is fairly certain he heard somewhere that scorpions can't come into contact with alcohol. Apparently, they sting themselves to death. He assumes that the one currently sitting atop the bar is just crazy.

The faunus on the bar is barely an inch or two taller than Qrow. His hair is long, silky, and meticulously braided, tied at the end by a purple ribbon. His eyes are wide, wild, and bright yellow, and his grin makes the corners of them crinkle as he laughs. He wears an open shirt that displays a toned midsection marred by thick scars. Those, along with the disarmed gauntlets at his side, tell Qrow that this man must be a huntsman.

He's telling dirty stories about the Schnee family.

"--and apparently she was one of fifteen different faunus mistresses that Jacques had ravished!" he cackles. "She told me that he'd said it was because 'faunus are only good for one thing'."

Someone in the audience shouts, "What's that?"

"FUCKING!" the man shrieks, laughter tearing through him and nearly making him rock off the bar. The people gathered around him laugh raucously in return, some throwing back drinks and some patting the faunus' shoulder in appreciation of the story. Qrow can't help the smile on his face. He knocks back his drink and shuts his eyes, content to listen to another one of the mysterious huntsman's filthy stories, but it never comes.

Music starts up at the piano in the corner of the bar and the laughter fades. A shadow, however, looms over Qrow. When he opens his eyes to peer at his visitor, he finds the nameless faunus standing before him, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a single glass in the other. His tail curls slowly behind him, his smile widening.

"You looked lonely," the faunus says, walking behind Qrow. He sits the glass on the table in front of Qrow and pours him a drink, giggling under his breath as he does so. "I thought you could use some company."

The faunus lingers over Qrow's shoulders before circling back to the chair opposite him, the cool tail curling along Qrow's back as he passes. The faunus sits and rests his chin on his hands, golden eyes boring holes into Qrow's crimson.

"What, no drink for you?" Qrow teases, picking up the fresh glass.

"I'm afraid not. It'd kill me. But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy your company." So the rumors are true. Qrow lifts the glass and laughs.

"I'll drink plenty for us both then." he says, gulping down a sizeable portion of his drink. "So, you got a name?"

"Tyrian." he coos, leaning further over the table. "And you're Qrow Branwen."

That raises a red flag. Cautiously, Qrow sets his drink down, concerned that there might be something in his drink. "You know me?"

"What huntsman doesn't?" Tyrian asks, laughing to himself. "You're one of the most amazing fighters of this generation! Not to mention, and extension of Ozpin himself. I'm honored to be in presence of someone so prestigious."

Qrow snorts. "Never heard that one before." he laughs. "Been called a lotta things but... never 'prestigious'. You mighta just made my night, Tyrian."

Qrow knocks back another gulp of his drink and Tyrian leans over the table to refill the glass. His smile twists along his cheeks and he looks up at Qrow with a giggle. He never sits back down.

"Don't say that yet," Tyrian coos. "I haven't even asked your room number yet."

Qrow, having been in the middle of taking another drink, chokes on his whiskey. "'scuse me?" he chokes out.

"I said 'I haven't even asked your room number yet'. Was my intention not clear?" he purrs. Tyrian's hand reaches forward to push Qrow's drink down and back to the table. "I'm asking if there's any chance I could spend the evening with a prestigious huntsman."

Tyrian remains inches from Qrow's face for a few more seconds before sitting back down. The look on his face is challenging, as if daring Qrow to turn him down. Qrow takes a deep breath, chugs the rest of his drink, and stands. He stumbles a bit and grabs the chair to steady himself. Once he's regained his balance, Qrow hurries past Tyrian, snatching up the faunus' sleeve and dragging him behind.

They're not even halfway up the stairs to the rooms above when Tyrian shoves Qrow against the wall. He presses a harsh kiss to the huntsman's lips, but Qrow shoves Tyrian back with a smirk and slams him against the wall just opposite.

"Nuh-uh," he growls, his smile never wavering. "Not tonight. You want prestigious? You're gettin' it."

Tyrian's eyes light up with excitement, but before he can say anything, Qrow grabs him by his torn collar and yanks him into his room.

Qrow's hands are on Tyrian's partially exposed chest, pushing the torn garment from the faunus' shoulders. Tyrian happily moves to undo his harness, which pulls the rest of his shirt from its place beneath his belt and tumbles to the floor. Their hips grind together as Qrow begins placing kisses along Tyrian's throat. When the huntsman reaches his collarbone, he bites into Tyrian's skin hard, eliciting a loud moan from the faunus.

Tyrian's hands fly upward the fumble with the huntsman's shirt buttons, and Qrow quickly takes the hint and nearly rips his clothing open to toss it to the floor. Tyrian's hands comb through Qrow's hair covered chest, giggles falling from his lips like a drunk man. Qrow wraps his arms around Tyrian to pick him up and carry him to the bed. Tyrian bounces a bit on the creaky mattress as Qrow climbs atop him, kissing hungrily along his torso and moving quickly downward.

Tyrian's tail wraps affectionately around Qrow's thigh, the rounded and of his stinger rubbing against the growing bulge in Qrow's pants. The sensation makes his breath hitch and a moan slips from his mouth, muffled by Tyrian's hips. The faunus giggles and rubs his tail against Qrow again.

"Who's in charge here...?" Qrow breathes, his voice deep and husky from the arousal. Tyrian laughs again and Qrow decides to shut him up by yanking the scorpion's pants down to his knees. He's admittedly caught off guard when he finds a glistening wet slit where he expected a hard cock, but he's not about to deny the faunus his night of fun over something that small. Without warning, Qrow runs his tongue along Tyrian's swollen clit, making the faunus whimper at the pleasure. Qrow smiles and pushes Tyrian's legs apart, his tongue curling between the scorpion's folds and twisting around his hood. Every little twitch from Qrow's warm muscle makes Tyrian cry and moan, rolling and rocking his hips into Qrow's eager mouth.

Tyrian's tail presses against Qrow's arousal again and he lets out a shaky laugh. "I think it... would be in your best interest..." he pants. "To stop wasting time a-and fuck me--"

Qrow pulls away from Tyrian and licks his lips, busying his hands with undoing his pants. Tyrian jerks up with a giggle and rushes to help Qrow from the confines of his undergarments. When the faunus' golden eyes land on Qrow's erect member, he reaches forward to stroke it, but Qrow pins him to the bed again, laughing. "What did I say?"

Once again, without warning, Qrow pushes into Tyrian, making the scorpion cry out in pleasure. His hands curl into fists, his tail tightens around Qrow's leg, and the huntsman only takes that as encouragement to thrust again, harder this time. His hips roll and buck rhythmically into Tyrian, and every push makes Tyrian moan and giggle and cackle. The faunus' legs wrap around Qrow to pull him closer, his hands wriggling in a feeble attempt to get free.

"Ohh, Qrow..." Tyrian moans, his tongue beginning to loll out of his mouth. "Please... harder..." he groans.

The huntsman grins. "If you insist."

Qrow yanks Tyrian up to let him sit in his lap. Tyrian takes the tip and braces himself on Qrow's shoulders before beginning to bounce himself on the huntsman's cock. Qrow drags his nails along Tyrian's back which causes the scorpion's tail to wrap around the two of them. With Qrow thrusting and Tyrian bouncing, it only takes a few more minutes for climax to approach. Tyrian whines into Qrow's ear and whispers, "...i-inside... d-do it inside--"

The desperation in Tyrian's voice sends a shudder down Qrow's spine and he thrusts one last time before cumming. The feeling of Qrow emptying himself inside of Tyrian makes him shriek with pleasure, the muscles of his entrance clench around Qrow's dick. The huntsman moans against Tyrian's neck, their cries intertwining before they collapse on the mattress. Their breathing is ragged, but Tyrian's is peppered with laughter.

"Prestigious enough for you...?" Qrow purrs.

"Far more than prestigious." Tyrian coos, a pleased smile across his face.

It's not long before they both drift off to sleep, basking in the afterglow of sex.

Tyrian wakes long before the sun rises, and slithers out of the bed without waking Qrow. He quietly dresses himself again, his glowing eyes the only source of light in the room. Once dressed, Tyrian crouches by Qrow's small bag and begins digging. It doesn't take long for him to find what he's looking for.

Two photographs, both worn and one covered by a coffee stain. The first is of four people, one of them Qrow, and the others likely his old team. The second is a photo of two young girls, one with long yellow hair, the other with glimmering silver eyes. Tyrian grins and folds the picture up before sliding it into his pants pocket.

He stands and his tail wraps around his belt to conceal itself. He hesitates before leaving, only to gaze at Qrow's sleeping form, before slipping out the door to continue his search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also just a note: i live and die by the trans!tyrian headcanon, so unless it's specified in a request, you will always get trans!tyrian.


	3. The Gala (Watts/Tyrian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> watts brings tyrian to an atlas social event as his plus one. the night begins well enough, but tyrian can hear every whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> madalyngragg requested: How about a Tyrian/Watts fanfic! I had an idea for a fic that involved Watts asking Tyrian to be his plus one to a fancy schmancy Atlas ceremony (a lot like the Schnee charity event). Tyrian goes but the people attending the event do not accept his gender identification or him being a faunus. People start wondering why Dr Watts is with such a person, which makes Tyrian start to freak out about Watts reputation and his career. Watts realizes this and calms him down and tells him he is the most beautiful person he has ever met. Idk, just an idea!

Despite his work with Salem, Watts still has a reputation to uphold in Atlas. His family's product was once a household name, and despite their fall from fame, he still holds a powerful economic position within Atlesian society. He's become a consultant for multiple different businesses, including the Schnee Dust Company. The invitation in his hands is fancy, but not the work of the Schnees.

The paper is thick, fancy, and the print is made from what must be pure gold leaf. It reads: _We cordially invite you, Doctor Theodore Watts PhD to a social gathering sponsored by many companies in Atlas. The Schnee Dust Company, Polendina Robotics, and representatives from many other organizations will be attending. This will be a formal gathering and we encourage you to invite one of your associates to join us. We hope to see you and your company there! Sincerely, the Atlesian Business Council._

Watts rolls his eyes and considers throwing the invitation in the trash. If he didn't have a reputation to keep, he'd blow off every silly invitation he received in the mail. Looks like this one will be big, though, and big events have press and publicity. The better he looks in the public eye, the easier it is for him to work his way around laws and boundaries to complete his real work. With a sigh, Watts pulls his Scroll from his coat pocket and swipes his thumb across the front. The fuzzy image of a young woman with dark hair pulled into a bun appears before him.

"Welcome, Doctor Watts! What can I help you with?"

"Contact the Atlesian Business Council and send my RSVP to the gala this weekend." he states.

"Absolutely!" comes the woman's cheerful voice. "May I ask who your plus one will be?"

Watts suddenly frowns. He thinks over his associates. Hazel would be the most well-behaved of the team, but he's not terribly sociable or approachable. Cinder would be a perfect choice, had she not already returned from her mission at Beacon. Tyrian... Well, the scorpion can behave himself when prompted. Watts has taken him to many Schnee gatherings (for the sole purpose of letting Jacques parade him around, which disgusts the doctor to no end) and his faunus trait would put Watts in a positive light, no matter how bitter the reasons. He sighs.

"Tyrian." he says.

"Wonderful! Your RSVP has been sent! Is there anything else I can do for you, Doctor Watts?"

"Not today."

Watts takes to his Scroll once more, tapping out a message to the faunus to inform him to clear his schedule for the weekend.

 

> to: [ TYRIAN. ] I hope you aren't busy this weekend. I need you to attend a gala with me. Pick out something nice to wear and pin your hair up; it's a formal event in Atlas.

He can't help but laugh when he gets a message almost immediately after.

 

> from: [ TYRIAN. ] excellent!!! i know exactly what 2 wear!!!!!

Despite the casual response, he knows Tyrian will follow through. Fingers crossed things don't spiral out of control.

* * *

Tyrian cleans up nicely.

His hair has been brushed to perfection, leaving it gleaming like silk, and tied into a tight bun atop his head. He's donned a two-piece for the night, made of black and gold silk and clearly of Animian descent. Its high collar is embroidered with golden vines and the bell-shaped sleeves carry a hint of violet. He's even allowed himself the vulnerability of going without his braces or a belt to conceal his tail, which sways gracefully back and forth behind him.

Watts is in his usual three-piece suit, though it's a simple black and white instead of his usual purple and yellow. He's slicked his hair back for the night as well.

The ballroom is filled with glittering gowns and tailored suits. Trophy wives hang on their rich husband's arms and sip champagne, while soft-spoken servants offer delicate snacks and more alcohol. One of the men gathered at the center of the room turns to the door and exclaims, "Watts!" before hurrying over to the doctor and his guest.

"It's been quite a long time, doctor!" the man says, shaking Watts' hand.

"It certainly has, Duke," Watts replies. "we must stop meeting like this. Perhaps you'll take me up on my offer to join me for tea?"

The man, Duke, laughs. "Theodore, you know I'm a scotch man!"

Tyrian finds himself giggling at the exchange; he hardly ever sees Watts interact with people like this. He's so used to the stoic, no-nonsense facade that this kind of behavior almost seems bubbly. Duke catches Tyrian's laughter and extends a hand. Tyrian quiets himself and reaches forward, but instead of shaking, Duke gingerly picks Tyrian's hand up and presses a kiss to the back of his palm.

"And who might this lovely creature--" He puts more emphasis on the word than Tyrian would like, and he feels his tail flick in response. "--that you've brought along with you?"

Tyrian laughs, albeit a bit nervously. "You may call me Tyrian," he says. "Watts and I are very close associates." he adds.

"Close, eh?" Duke teases, releasing Tyrian's hand. "You're not going to get physical because I flirted with your girl, are you Watts?"

Watts, who had taken a drink from one of the passing waiters, nearly drops his glass. "Duke--"

"I'm not--" Tyrian begins.

"Oh, Watts, don't look so serious!" Duke laughs. "I'd never steal her from you like that! But I might ask for a dance later on."

"I'm not a woman!" Tyrian spits. "And I'm not close to Watts like that! We're associates! Co-workers! Teammates!"

"I--I apologize, miss... ter...?" Duke trails off, his brows furrowing.

"You don't even remember my name! I just told you--!" Watts puts a hand on Tyrian's shoulder.

"Tyrian, please, this isn't the place--"

"Shut up!" Tyrian snarls. His tail flicks angrily to the side, one of the women behind him whimpering as she avoids the impromptu attack. "I'm going to deal with this worm myself--!"

"TYRIAN!"

Watts yanks the hunter back, concern filling his eyes. "Please! This is not the place." he repeats.

Tyrian begins to protest, but he quickly notices the stares on him. A few people surround Duke, as if comforting him, and the majority of the party goers whisper to one another and inch further away from Tyrian.

_Did you see that? Is that a faunus? Look at its tail! Oh, my God, stay back! Why is it trying to attack him? I can't believe the doctor would bring someone like that to the gathering! Disgraceful! Disgusting! This is why we don't allow faunus into the council!_

Don't these people know anything about faunus? Tyrian's hearing is excellent--hell, he can hear the man behind him chewing his food. He can hear every gasp of fear, every whisper, every disgusted word.

_Freak! Animal! Pest!_

Tyrian's hands are shaking as he backs away from Watts and the other man. He bumps into someone behind him, who cries out in fear and bats at Tyrian's tail before running to another person's side. Tyrian can't stop shaking, he can feel every pair of eyes on him, hear every degrading word, he--

He spins on his heel and rushes out the way he came in.

"Tyrian, wait!" Watts calls, but the scorpion doesn't respond. He grinds his teeth as Duke places a hand on his shoulder.

"Watts, you really need to put a leash on that thing--"

Watts throws his drink in the man's face, then shatters the glass at his feet for good measure. He quickly follows after Tyrian, ignoring the rising mutters behind him.

The doctor finds Tyrian standing over the fountain in the courtyard. His hair is pulled down from its bun and the pin is tossed to the ground at his feet. He's still shaking.

"Tyrian...?" Watts whispers, approaching him carefully.

"I shouldn't have done that." he says. "They're going to t-talk about you on the news tonight. You can't afford that, your reputation is so important to what we do, I--"

"Tyrian." Watts' voice is much firmer this time. "He's an ass. I can barely tolerate him on my own, let alone when he's like that. I would have done wore in your position."

"I want to." Tyrian giggles. His smile returns, but his eyes are still devoid of glee. "I want to run him through, rip his head from his shoulders--"

"That can wait until after the party." Watts interrupts. "I brought you here because I hoped you would enjoy yourself. The party's not over yet. We can still salvage this."

"You brought me because it would look good. It always looks good. I ruined it."

"You didn't ruin anything!" Watts insists, grabbing up Tyrian's hands and pulling him close. "You didn't ruin anything." he repeats, his voice softer.

Tyrian wraps his arms around Watts, burying his face in the crook of the doctor's neck. He mutters apologies that Watts shushes with gentle pats to his back and whispered assurances that he's fine.

"Tyrian," Watts begins. "you are one of the most beautiful people I have ever met. Don't let those pompous airheads make you think otherwise. Do you understand?" Tyrian laughs and nods. "Good. I'm very glad to hear it."

They remain stationary for a moment, Tyrian's arms wrapped tightly around the doctor and Watts' hands resting gently on the scorpion's hips. They're both calm, content, happy. One of Watts' hands come to tangle into Tyrian's hair as he closes his eyes, simply taking in the silence between them.

Music interrupts the silence, however. Watts perks up at the sound of a familiar waltz and pulls away from Tyrian. He clears his throat and bows dramatically.

"Tyrian, my dearest associate," he purrs. "may I have this dance?"

Tyrian giggles and takes his hand, shaking his head. "I'd be honored."

Watts pulls Tyrian close as the music continues, letting the faunus' tail curl around the two of them as they sway in time to the melody. He'll have hell to pay tomorrow, when the press gets hold of the night's activities. But for now, he's content to dance the night away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> request a ship or prompt here: http://colorinplatinum.tumblr.com/ask


	4. Fakes (Watts/Tyrian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> watts returns from his mission and is tasked with the daunting responsibility of restoring tyrian's tail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous requested: There isn't enough 

When Tyrian curls his tail to the side, the metal at its end glints in the light. He's inspecting it, making sure it feels the way it should.

Not that he doubts Watts' work, anyway.

The doctor has spent the last week locked away in his lab, pouring over blueprints and prototypes. His only visitor has been Tyrian, but that was for the sole purpose of measuring his tail and gathering other minute details. He had to study the small file he has on arachnid and venom-based faunus; they're extremely rare, and Tyrian is the only one he's ever met in person. Exploratory surgery was out of the question, so Watts had to fill in a lot of the blanks on his own.

Attaching artificial nerves is nothing; he has a prosthetic limb of his own, and he's performed similar operations on others. The nerves are the easy part. Veins are never an issue, as they needn't flow through the prosthetic, but Tyrian is a special case. If he can't access his venom reserves, his tail becomes a knife attached to his spine. The venom is what makes him special. It can't be left out.

Watts actually ended up making two prosthesis: one to replace the stinger itself and another to remain attached at all times to prevent Tyrian's venom from draining without muscle command. It wasn't easy, but he managed.

The blueprints are still scattered across his desk, despite the fact that Tyrian's wearing the finished product already. He stands before a mirror, stripped down to a pair of stark white underwear and nothing else. As he turns this way and that, Watts finds himself admiring the other's physique. His tail, for one, is far more than that: dark brown plates of armor crawl along his back, likely an added effect of being born with his special brand of DNA. Scars cover him from nearly head to toe. Aside from the prominent ones along his chest, several scatter along his back, leaving marks in the armor where attacks were blocked. His arms are painted with broken flesh, some from Grimm and others self-inflicted. Even his legs carry a few here and there.

The mirror suddenly shatters and Watts jumps in surprise. He looks up to find Tyrian's new tail in the center of the shattered glass, purple liquid dripping from the end of it. The faunus grins and begins to giggle.

"You actually did it..." he marvels, his voice low and hushed.

"Does it fit well enough?" Watts questions. "It's not too weighty, doesn't constrict blood flow--?"

Suddenly Tyrian's arms are wrapped around the doctor, his tail even curling about the two of them as he presses their lips together. He lacks the violet dusting of embarrassment along his cheeks, but the doctor himself turns bright red. His jaw hangs open when Tyrian steps back.

"Thank you," Tyrian says, laughter making his words bubble. "Thank you so much, Wattsy."

"I--" Watts clears his throat. "You're quite welcome. You would do the same, were you capable."

Tyrian laughs and nods in agreement. With an appreciative bow, he turns to gather his clothing, which Watts had neatly folded and placed to the side for after the procedure. It's not his combat uniform; Watts recommended Tyrian choose something loose fitting and comfortable for his recovery, however short it may be. Instead of his white uniform and leather boots, Tyrian dons a loose-fitting canvas shirt and baggy black pants to match. It allows ample room for his tail to move without restriction. He pulls a well-worn purple ribbon from his pants pocket and ties his hair up in a ponytail.

It's only then he notices Watts staring.

"Admiring your handiwork?" he teases.

"Admiring, yes, but not my own work." Watts admits. Tyrian starts a bit and laughs almost nervously.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" the hunter demands.

Watts falls silent and turns to begin organizing his desk. Annoyed, Tyrian approaches the doctor with a pout. "Watts!" he whines. "What did you mean by that?"

"Do that again," Watts orders, turning on his heel. He and Tyrian are frightfully close to one another.

"W--What, say your name? Watts--!" Tyrian is quieted by the doctor's hand over his mouth.

"Not that."

There's something in his voice that the doctor doesn't recognize. It's deep, sultry, filled with desire. Tyrian knows what it is: lust.

He leans up to bridge the small gap between the two of them, and as the doctor's hand falls away, he presses another kiss to the man's lips. Tyrian's hands rest of Watts' shoulders while the doctor pulls him in by his hips. The kiss is deep, loving, longing. Tyrian lips part and Watts, almost too eagerly, lets his tongue slip past the hunter's lips. Tyrian giggles softly through the embrace at the tickle of the doctor's mustache--and then he jumps back with a cry of pain.

Watts immediately realizes his mistake.

"I--Tyrian, I apologize, I shouldn't have pressed my hands against your spine," he blurts, his blush working all the way up to his ears. "You're still recovering and I was careless--"

"You were," Tyrian admits. He huffs and moves forward to peck the doctor on the lips one last time. "Save it for later."

"Later?" Watts questions, tilting his head. Tyrian laughs and shoves the doctor onto his desk, pressing another kiss to his already swollen lips.

"Later," he repeats.


	5. It's Electrifying (Watts/Tyrian) NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's a good thing the lab is so far from the rest of the rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anonymous requested: Watts is Dom. Tyrian is sub.
> 
> request a prompt here: http://colorinplatinum.tumblr.com/ask

"You're making quite a mess, you know,"

Of course, Tyrian can hardly make a noise, considering his face is being pressed against Watts' desk. Breathy giggles pour from his lips, along with a fair amount of drool courtesy of the tongue lolling out of his mouth. In one hand, he clutches a piece of paper, while the other tries desperately to grasp at the other side of the desk for support.

Watts' hips roll and thrust into the scorpion beneath him. His nails dig into Tyrian's back, leaving behind bright reddish-purple welts that pair fantastically with the bite marks left along Watts' own neck.

" _Arthuuuur..._ " Tyrian moans, licking his lips hungrily. "Don't you dare stop..."

The doctor grins above Tyrian and grabs a handful of thick, brown hair and yanks the faunus back. In the brief moment they're separated, Arthur shoves the remainder of the work from his desk and turns Tyrian around to shove him back onto it. He climbs atop the hunter, whose arms wrap around Watts, and kisses him. Tyrian's tongue is in Watts' mouth, and vice versa. Teeth nip and pull at tender lips as Tyrian rolls his hips upward. The feeling of their hips grinding together, Watts' dripping erection pressed between them, makes Tyrian moan into the kiss.

One of the hunter's cold hands moves from the doctor's shoulder to beneath his hips, wrapping around Arthur's member. The doctor's breath hitches.

"God, Tyrian--" he mutters, sighing shakily as the chill of the coldblooded creature's touch. Tyrian begins to pump his fist about Watts' cock, but the doctor suddenly grabs his hand and pins it to the desk. "If you want to pleasure me so badly," he whispers, grabbing a handful of hair once again. "you're going to have to do better than that."

He steps back just enough to allow Tyrian the room to crouch, and then shoves the faunus' head towards his crotch. Tyrian gets the message pretty quickly, eagerly encasing the doctor's dick in his mouth. At least his tongue is warmer than his hands.

Watts leans forward to steady himself on the desk, gritting his teeth as Tyrian works his magic below his waistline. His tongue curls and hums bubble within his throat, making Watts buck his hips into the faunus' throat. With the hunter's skilled tongue, it's no surprise that Watts doesn't last much longer. Tyrian eagerly gulps down everything the doctor offers, only pulling his mouth free to lick his lips clean.

With Arthur's hand free from Tyrian's hair, the faunus stands shakily, leaning against the desk with a weak laugh. "How was that, doctor?" he coos.

Watts takes a moment to catch his breath before he points to the desk. "Sit," he orders. Though admittedly confused, Tyrian does as he's told. The doctor presses a gentle kiss to the faunus' throat, sliding his index and middle finger between Tyrian's folds. His thumb gently works the hunter's swollen clit, the stimulation making Tyrian whimper and moan into the doctor's ear.

Semblances are a funny thing. They can assist one in battle, make everyday life easier. The manipulation of energy--most favorably electricity--can help in far more ways than expected.

Tyrian screams in pleasure when he feels the gentle wave of energy rush through him. It feels like every nerve is being stimulated at once, and as for the nerves already being taken care of--

He cums within seconds, Watts' hand being soaked by the scorpion's own fluids as he rocks against the doctor's hand. His muscles twitch, his legs shake, and his nails dig into Arthur's back as he continues to moan and cry and gasp as he rides out the pleasure.

When Watts pulls his hand from Tyrian, the faunus collapses on the desk, his chest heaving from the exertion. He's covered in sweat, his face flushed a deep shade of purple; his thighs are soaked and he knows for a fact that Watts will have to rewrite anything he might have been sitting on in the last few minutes. The doctor himself is leaned over the desk, sweat dripping from his chin and his cock still glistening with Tyrian's saliva.

"You're going to clean this up where we're done here." Watts huffs, a slight smile tugging at his lips. Tyrian's brow furrows.

" _When_ we're done? We're not... _already_ done?" he asks.

Watts straightens and runs a hand through his hair to slick it back, and then nods.

"We are _far_ from finished for the night."


	6. Healing His Wounds (Salem/Tyrian) NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> salem resolves to inspect her hunter's wounds and punish him for his failures.
> 
> chapter includes noncon/dubcon and dark sexual themes. skip this chapter if that's not okay with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon requested: Can you do a fanfics of Salem's "punishment" for Tyrian (sexually ) 
> 
> request a ship or prompt here: http://colorinplatinum.tumblr.com/ask

"Remove your clothing, Tyrian. I wish to properly inspect your wounds."

"Yes, my lady."

He's done this so many times before that it's practically routine at this point. His harness is tossed to the side, then his belt and shirt. He sits only for a minute to remove his boots, but he hesitates when his pallid hands rest on his waistband.

"Is something the matter, Tyrian?" Salem asks, her voice cold.

"N-no, your grace. M-my mind was wandering." It's a lie. He knows she can tell. He wastes no more time in removing his pants, tossing the pristine white clothing into a pile with the rest of his uniform. He remain in his underwear, stunted tail curling nervously around his thigh.

" _All_ of your clothing, Tyrian."

He flinches at her harsh tone, but nods and obeys. He feels naked without his underwear, and not simply because of the lack of clothing. He feels like his entire being has been stripped away, as if Salem can see the blood pumping through his veins, see every hair upon his being. He feels like a specimen, not a person.

But still he stands straight.

Salem approaches him with a blank expression. Cold, clawed hands trail along Tyrian's scarred chest as she circles him. She shivers, but he doesn't dare to move away from her hands.

"What a shame that one of my bet warriors was bested by a child," she spits, claws dragging down his back at the offending word. Tyrian whimpers, but remains as still as possible. "I expected more from you. On your knees, insect."

He falls to the floor with a thud, his tail going limp behind him. His jaw hangs open, lips quivering from tears not yet shed. Salem's clawed hand sinks into his hair and yanks his head back, forcing him to look at her.

"You have failed me once again, Tyrian. How do you expect to make up for it this time?" Tyrian tries to stutter out a response, but Salem yanks him onto his back. "Silence! Did I say you could speak?!"

Salem moves once again, this time halting in front of Tyrian. Glistening golden eyes stare into the vaulted ceiling; he doesn't dare look her in the eye like this. Tyrian gasps in shock and pain when he feels something cold pressing against him, sharp heel digging between his thighs. The icy chill of Salem's shoes against his most sensitive skin almost burns. He grits his teeth to prevent another noise from escaping him.

"You failed to capture the Spring Maiden. You failed to capture the silver-eyed child. You failed to kill Qrow Branwen!" Skin breaks--he knows it does, because the burning cold is suddenly painfully warm.

"But I--I poisoned him! I know I did!" he sputters, tears stinging his eyes. "There's no way he could have survived--!"

Salem is a blur of white and black in his peripheral vision, and the brief relief of her heel leaving his crotch is quickly replaced by a trio of clawed fingers being shoved into him. He tries to bite his tongue, but he roars in agony. He's sure the others can hear him. They've likely heard him every night for the last thirteen years.

"He survived, Tyrian!" Salem shrieks. "And you have disgraced my name for the last time! Tyrian... are you still loyal to me?"

"Yes!" he whimpers, nails digging into the floor.

"You swore your heart, mind, body, and soul to me. Do they still belong to me?"

"Always!"

"Do you still love me?"

"Of course!"

Her hands are pulled from within Tyrian, then promptly shoved between his lips. He tastes his own fluids, tastes blood. The skin beneath his tongue breaks and he loses track of where the blood came from to begin with.

"Tyrian--cum for me. That's an order."

He smiles, even with her cold fingers in his mouth. If he could speak, he'd likely whisper, _yes, of course my goddess, anything for you_. His tail wraps lamely around his thigh, cold plates rubbing against his pained sex. His own appendage is hardly as cold as her hands, but he closes his eyes and pretends she's the one making the pain go away. He imagines her voice in his ear, moaning, whimpering, singing praise after praise. When he finally cums, it's an explosion of unbearable pain and unbelievable pleasure. His eyes roll into the back of his head, his bleeding tongue lolls from his mouth around Salem's soaked fingers, and the throne room is filled with screams of a different variety.

Salem pulls her hand from Tyrian's mouth and stands. She motions for him to sit up, and he shakily obeys. His cheeks are purple, his chin covered in saliva and blood. His thighs are soaked with slick cum and the faintest hint of the same thick, purple liquid. He smells of sex and copper and salt.

"Clean my hand, Tyrian." Salem holds out her hand, which Tyrian eagerly leans upward to lick clean. Of course, it does nothing for the remainder of the spittle, but he gladly gulps down the blood and cum from her clawed fingers. He reaches up to grab her wrist, but she pulls her hand away. "Enough."

Tyrian sighs, defeated, and falls forward onto his hands. He knows he shouldn't have done that, but--

"Leave me," Salem orders. "You disgust me. I don't want to see you again until you look like a respectable warrior once more." She glares at him, her eyes glowing. "Perhaps then, I'll reward you."

"Yes, my lady..."

He reaches for his clothes, but Salem snaps her fingers. He nods and shakily pulls himself to his feet. He bows, wincing at the pain in his abdomen, and then slowly, carefully exits the throne room.


End file.
